Stealing Heaven

by Madeline Hunter

  “Two days ago I sent some men out to see what was what in those hills. There had been rumors, although I’m always the last to hear such things. It is like living in a den of thieves who don’t even speak your language. Hell of a thing. Anyway, one of my men was a long time gone, and comes back this morning with word of an army. An army! A half-day’s ride into those damn mountains, and treacherous paths the whole way. They are scattered into many small camps. Hell of a thing.”

  “How large an army?”

  “He did not introduce himself and take a count, now did he? At least a hundred, probably more. He saw some banners, but did not know the colors.”

  So, it was true that some chieftains had joined with Carwyn. And if some did, more might. One scent of potential victory and that army would swell tenfold.

  “Where the hell did they come from, that’s what I want to know. I doubt there are a hundred families for miles around.”

  From Powys and Gwynedd. From Glamorgan and Brecon. From the Welsh lands held by the English for centuries, and from those only held for fifty years. And they had probably been packing their weapons and moving here for weeks, long before Nesta verch Llygad arrived at Anglesmore.

  No wonder Nesta had been sanguine about this rebellion. No wonder there had been so little attempt on her part to contact Carwyn Hir. Her role was mostly done. This was where she had been during those months after leaving the convent. Traveling through Wales, visiting the old leaders, letting them know the time was now. Sealing that marriage alliance that would lend her father’s men legitimacy and strength.

  Marcus looked across the timber-roofed hall, to where Nesta sat surrounded by women and their children. Her dark eyes glinted with joy as they threw family news at her, filling in the big hole made by eight years’ absence.

  I am nothing in this. In any of it. That part was not true, and the evidence would be plentiful if Stratford and the King looked for it. Even now, she was the daughter of Llygad, and a symbol to the men camped in the distant mountains.

  “How many did you bring?” Hubert asked.

  “Over two hundred, with Addis de Valence’s men included.”

  “There could be a thousand out there for all we know.”

  “I doubt that.” Not yet. But maybe there would be soon. Maybe bearing banners that Hubert would quickly recognize.

  “Well, it is a good thing I sent messengers to the King’s men in Danbigh, and to some of the marcher lords. Also to Warwick.”

  Marcus’s attention snapped away from Nesta. “Warwick does not even hold lands here. You feared for your safety so much that you asked for help from an English baron?”

  “I asked help from a baron not in Flanders with the King. Of course he is English. We all are. Hell, you brought Barrowburgh with you.”

  Marcus bit back his response. He began calculating. It would take two weeks for troops from England to make their way here, but the lords in Wales would arrive sooner. Once they did, he would be obligated to finish this with blood, not guile.

  Peals of laughter drew his gaze back to Nesta and the domestic scene surrounding her. Her happiness sent light spilling through his heart.

  He remembered the way she had thrown herself at him by the stream, and saved him from that bolt. It had been an instinctive betrayal of her father’s cause, and he loved her for it.

  He knew, however, that she had not completely forgotten her duty. He was counting on that. Counting on her making good her resolve to not be subverted.

  He needed her to find the heart to commit another betrayal, this time of him.

  He needed her to make her move, and very soon.

  Mallets pounded to her right and left as Nesta stood on the wall walk. Within hours of arriving, Marcus had relieved Sir Hubert of his responsibilities, and set men to work reinforcing the shaky defenses. All around her were the signs of a manor being prepared for war.

  The scene spread out on the hill below reinforced that impression. Most of the army Marcus had brought lived outside the wall, in camps carefully positioned and clustered. Some of the men had been sent into the forest, and as dusk now fell she could see the dots of distant fires, showing where sentries ringed them.

  The pounding around her stopped. Boots lumbered away. That surprised her, until she felt the body along her back and the arms sliding around her waist.

  “There is more light left,” she said. “They could have worked longer.”

  “The food is ready, and they hardly mind the reprieve.”

  “I think they know the reason for it, despite your attempt at discretion.”

  “Probably so, after your bravery at the stream.”

  They had not spoken of that during the last hours of riding here. She did not regret her reaction, even though it had not been the result of bravery. It had not even been a decision. One moment she had sensed danger, and the next she was holding him.

  “Do not scold me for being reckless, Mark.” The horror of seeing that arrow in the ground returned, evoking a heart-numbing premonition of grief. No matter what else happened now, she would not want to live if he died.

  “It would be ungrateful to scold. But promise me to never do such a thing again. Better an arrow finds me than you. I was born for such dangers, and accepted them long ago.”

  She leaned into him, and let him support her. His arms felt so good. Closing her eyes, she let them transport her back to memories of the night before last, when he held her whole body until dawn and its journey threatened. It had been a long taste of heaven, immersed in such poignant sharing that finally, when he slept, she had gazed out at those stars that he loved and silently wept.

  She wanted to weep again now.

  “Where were you put?” he asked.

  “In my old chamber in the stone tower. I used to share it with Genith. Now I will share it with three other women who sleep there.” She had not brought her servants, but many others had rushed to take their place. “It is a small manor.”

  “Not so small, but not big enough for three barons.”

  “When my father had important visitors, the men slept in his chamber. I assume that Hubert has done the same, and taken you and Addis in with him?”

  She felt him nod. They were laying out the only reality that mattered right now. They would not be able to share a bed at night, even for a while.

  “It is probably for the best.” It pained her to say it. She expected to feel the tightening of his hold that said he disagreed. Instead he only kissed her neck, not in passion but in a comforting manner. She realized that he understood why it was for the best, and how lying with him would only make being home that much harder, and more confusing for her.

  They knew each other well. Too well. Only in the bliss of their passion could they forget how well, for a while. Or at least she could. Nothing existed for her then but a glory full of sparkling happiness.

  He nestled her closer. “I do not need to make love to you, Nesta. Holding you like this, every now and then, will sustain me. But before we retire, bring me something of yours. A veil, perhaps.”

  She twisted and cocked an eyebrow at him. “For when you ride out? It would be most peculiar if you carried the favor of Llygad’s daughter with you then.”

  “When I ride out, it will be as the King’s man, and we both know that. The veil is for now. Do not laugh at me, but I would like to have it when I lie in bed. I would like to have something of you with me, if we cannot be together in fact.”

  For a man who claimed not to know pretty words, he managed to surprise her with lovely ones sometimes. Words like this, uncalculated, and so honest and open. An anguished joy, shaded by the pain waiting for them in the next days, stabbed her heart.

  He kissed her, sweetly and gently, and then turned his gaze to the fires of war sparking in the gathering dusk.

  Chapter 20

  The next morning, Marcus watched from the wall as a commotion milled at the western edge of the camps. Soon a file of riders approached the manor house
, escorted by Paul. Their banners bore colors that Marcus knew well.

  Another baron had arrived, but not one of those whom Hubert had called. It was Arundal, hearty, fat, and balding, accompanied by ten men.

  Marcus and Addis met them outside the gate. Arundal cast his heavy-lidded gaze upon the camps and scowled. “Your man here stopped us as if we were the enemy. What in the saints’ names are you doing here, Marcus?”

  “My duty, as our king charged me. What are you doing here?”

  “Came to get my men. I was visiting my castle at Holt, and word came that you held them. I went to Anglesmore only to learn you had brought them here.” He smirked as he dismounted. “You brought a very big shovel just to root out a few thieves.”

  “Roots grow long and deep in these mountains. Still, you are right. My men are young and eager, however, so I let them come.”

  “And you, Addis? Were your men so eager too?”

  “I was at my manor in Wiltshire, and decided to visit an old friend. The chance for some action was a tempting lure to stay.”

  Arundal accepted without question that any man would welcome a chance fight. A less arrogant expression covered his face as he gestured Marcus aside.

  “About that matter in the village. I will compensate you as is customary. When I heard you had taken my men, I was angry, I will admit it. Then learning they accompanied you here, well, I confess I was angrier yet. I realize, however, that you only sought to protect them from some revenge or whatnot in your absence.”

  “That was my intention.”

  “You can give them to me now. I will see that they are punished.”

  “Fate has done the job for you. We were attacked on the way here, and your men were killed.”

  Arundal’s eyes narrowed to slits. “Bold of these wild men. Also rare for them to invite such a skirmish. Perhaps it is good that you brought a big shovel. How many did you lose?”

  “Just three.”

  The implications sank in. Arundal’s face turned red. “Someone from the village must have been there, pointing them out. I’ll burn that place to the ground.”

  “I remind you that it is my village.”

  “Then you burn it.”

  “I have bigger matters to take care of now. When I am finished with them, we will discuss this small one. However, to my mind, justice has been done, and a mercy too. Better a few quick arrows than hanging, which is what I would have demanded of you for their crime.”

  Arundal puffed with outrage. He called gruffly to Addis. “You did not see to his education properly. Explain to this boy how it is.”

  Addis strolled toward them. “Murderers are now dead. I cannot see going to war over this. As to the man you insult by calling a boy, his sword arm is better than yours, so do not let your indignation lead to any rash challenges.” He clapped a calming hand on Arundal’s shoulder. “Come, and refresh yourself while we talk. It has been too long since we saw each other.”

  Not only Arundal spoke over the ale that they all shared in the hall. Before the first cup was finished, Hubert joined them and related the situation in the hills. The chance for a pitched battle got Arundal’s thoughts off his dead men as nothing else could. He all but rubbed his hands together in anticipation.

  Marcus caught Addis’s eye in a mutual acknowledgment that they would never get this baron and his ten men to leave now.

  Arundal plunged with enthusiasm into discussions of preparations. “Hubert says you don’t know how many are out there.”

  “I am riding out today to assess that,” Addis said. Arundal’s eyes lit with anticipation of quick action, but Addis adroitly cut him off. “I am taking only a few men. Just a quiet scouting party, to learn how things lie.”

  “All the same, I’ll be sending to Clun for fifty more. They can be here faster than anyone else, and we might need them.”

  Marcus had no good reason to object. He wanted to, however. He did not want an assortment of troops pledged to other than himself crowding the field outside. Keeping control of events would be nigh impossible. He had always suspected that time was his enemy, and now it truly was.

  “Send for them if you want, but we are only facing a small band here. If my shovel is already too large, there is no need for a bigger one, and the countryside cannot support too many for a long spell.”

  Arundal’s lowered lids showed he did not care for this disagreement with his judgment.

  “There is one other thing. Your men are yours to command, but I received the King’s charge on this, and I will decide if and when we move,” Marcus added.

  Their guest liked that even less. His smirk made it clear that he considered Marcus the least of the three barons sitting around the table. He glanced to Addis, as if seeking an ally in the view that Marcus should step aside.

  Addis returned a cool gaze. “He had Edward’s letter on this.”

  Arundal rose. “I’ll send my messenger back now, and call for those fifty.” He threw Marcus a sarcastic smile. “If the King gave you such a heavy duty, you must be his new favorite, Marcus. You get to lead men against thieves instead of the French, and guard these hills instead of the realm. He gives you a traitor’s daughter as a bride, and all of this”—his gaze and arm mockingly swept the crude hall—“as a dowry. Then a girl escapes your hold and you are left with the King’s own whore in her place. The enhancement of Anglesmore’s honor is impressive. I envy you your place in Edward’s heart.”

  Dinner was delayed that day.

  Addis rode out as he intended, so Marcus sat at the high table with Hubert and Arundal. Some knights filled a few tables, but the manor folk had not come.

  Time slid past. Hubert kept glancing to the doorway expectantly, waiting for signs of the meal.

  “Does a man have to hunt and cook his own boar in order to eat in this hellhole?” Arundal groused.

  Flushing, Hubert sent one of his squires to the kitchen to investigate. The boy returned to report that the meal was cooked, but the servants could not bring it yet because they had something else to do.

  Hubert’s face turned bright red. “Go back and give my command that food be brought at once. Tell the cooks to deliver it themselves if they cannot find servants. I will not have my guests insulted by further delay.”

  The boy scurried out. A long while passed with no meal arriving.

  Arundal tapped his fingers on the table, and assumed an expression of haughty disapproval. Marcus propped his head on his hand and waited.

  “Can we assume that you command your horse better than these servants, Hubert?” Arundal asked.

  Hubert muttered curses, and excused himself to go find someone to yell at.

  He had not taken more than five steps when a servant finally appeared. He did not come from the kitchen, nor did he carry any food. Rather he stepped down the stairs from the adjoining tower, toting a stool.

  Another followed, carrying a plank. More came into view, forming a little procession. Some held other pieces of wood, or fat candles, or pillows. They filed through the hall, heading toward the door to the yard.

  “Hell of a thing,” Hubert muttered.

  “Is this some Welsh feast day?” Arundal asked.

  A woman carried a box as if it contained a treasure. Marcus recognized it as the one in which Nesta kept her little pots of inks.

  Nesta herself appeared, surrounded by chatting women. She completely ignored the barons at the high table as she followed her retinue out of the building.

  Hubert walked to the door and craned his neck. “They are going into the chapel.”

  “I told you, it is a feast day,” Arundal said. “Probably some obscure Welsh saint that no civilized Christian has ever heard of.”

  Marcus knew better. They had been carrying planks and inks and candles, and he had seen their use before. Of more significance had been the moment chosen for this little procession. It amazed him that neither of the men waiting with him comprehended what had just occurred.

  Nesta verch
Llygad had just made it very clear that she now commanded the Welsh inside these walls.

  Arundal angled toward Marcus. “The dark-haired lady with them. That was the daughter?”

  “Aye.”

  “I will admit that she has something about her…” His face broke into a leering smile. “It is rumored that Edward still wants her. He may not care for this betrothal of yours.”

  Marcus did not need anyone to remind him of that.

  “No doubt he will accept that you only sacrificed your pride for strategic reasons,” Arundal mused. “Once her father’s men are flushed out, he will get the archbishop to relieve you of the burden of her shame.” His smile turned mocking. “Or maybe not. Perhaps he will welcome the marriage, and give you a position at court so that he has her nearby.”

  A pulse began throbbing furiously in Marcus’s head. If he stayed at this table, he and Arundal would be wielding their swords soon.

  A cook appeared, nervous and flushed, carrying a long plank on his shoulder loaded with bread. Behind him another man hauled a huge cauldron that was so heavy it made him wobble.

  Hubert strode over, shouting his displeasure at the delay. For good measure, he swung to box the first cook’s ear. The man saw it coming. He turned just enough for Hubert’s palm to slam into the plank balanced on his shoulder.

  The plank abruptly tilted. Dozens of loaves flew through the air as if a catapult had hurled them. The cook veered back in amazement at the sight they made, pushing right into his companion who was equally distracted by the impressive display.

  The cauldron fell. It landed on a foot and turned. Its thick, liquid contents lapped onto the floor.

  Hubert bellowed. Arundal sighed. Marcus, concluding that it would be some while before anyone ate, left the hall.

  Marcus entered the chapel as the last of the servants left. Hubert’s shouts still rang in the distance, but none of the Welsh appeared much concerned with his anger. A few even smirked when they stepped into the yard and heard his harangue.